Pent-Up Passion

Seduced
by the Boss 1: Pent-Up Passion

By

Jenn
Roseton

Seduced
by the Boss 1: Pent-Up Passion

Copyright
© 2012 by Jenn Roseton

www.JennRoseton.com

All
rights reserved.

No
part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by
any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the
copyright owner and publisher of this book.

This
is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are
the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

WARNING:

Adult Reading Material
Only: This is an erotic romance and contains a graphic sex scene.
ONLY For Adults aged 18+

Jemma Jones
squirmed
on her top-of-the-line office chair. She could hear the
murmur of Mr. Sexy Sinclair
’
s voice
through the wall behind her.
Her boss had an attractive
,
deep voice that sent shivers through her, even when she tried to
concentrate solely on taking his dictation.

She
’
d
worked at Sinclair Consulting for eighteen months, and every time she
saw her boss, Adam Sinclair, her pulse fluttered. He was tall and
fit, with dark hair, ocean blue eyes and a smile that did something
to her insides. He looked to be in his early thirties (she was
twenty-six) and as far as she knew, he was single.

Unfortunately, she didn
’
t
think he noticed her at all, except for the efficient way she ran his
successful one-man office. Every time he called her in for
dictation, her heart started beating a little faster. She supposed
it was unusual these days for secretaries to take dictation, since
most bosses knew their way around a computer keyboard, but sometimes
Mr. Sinclair would ask her to take a letter or short memo. And
lately, he
’
d been asking her to take
dictation more often. She was just glad she
’
d
decided to learn shorthand in order to make herself more marketable
to potential employers. She hadn
’
t
realized a side benefit would be having one-on-one time with her sexy
boss.

The sad fact was, she
hadn
’
t had a boyfriend for months.
Her last relationship had fizzled out before it had even started.
Mitchell had been a real tightwad, always
“
forgetting
”
his wallet when they were out on a date. Jemma would have to pay for
both of them - until the last date when she had gotten so fed up with
the situation that she'd deliberately left her wallet at home to
force him to pay. And it had worked. The restaurant manager had
been on the verge of calling the police when Mitchell had magically
found his wallet buried deep in his pants pocket and reluctantly paid
the bill.

Jemma had been on the
point of breaking up with him anyway, and this last date had made the
decision
for her. Instead of giving him a goodnight kiss,
she'd given Miserly Mitchell the old heave-ho. She considered
herself lucky that she hadn
‘
t slept
with him yet. She was pretty sure that if he was selfish in one area
of his life, he would be in others. And she definitely didn
’
t
want a selfish lover.

That had been six months
ago, and she hadn
’
t been involved
with anyone since. In fact, she hadn
’
t
even had a date. At night when she felt lonely, she thought of Mr.
Sexy Sinclair and pleasured herself with her fingers until she came
with a shudder.

“
Miss
Jones.
”

She
started as her boss
’
s smoky voice
interrupted her flashback to last night
’
s
self-pleasuring
and
felt her cheeks heat.
Her
favorite fantasy involved sitting naked in Mr. Sexy Sinclair
’
s
executive chair, the soft leather caressing her bottom and the backs
of her thighs as she waited for him to join her for a special kind of
“
dictation
”
.
Whenever she thought about it, she
always
felt
moisture between her thighs, no matter where she was or what she was
doing.

He
must have finished his phone call. Thank goodness he wasn
’
t
a mind reader.

"Yes,
Mr. Sinclair?
”
She called, sounding
way too husky for her own good. Her cheeks flamed hotter.

"Could
you come in here for dictation, please.
”

“
Yes,
sir.
”
Tamping down her
embarrassment, Jemma grabbed her dictation pad and pencil and walked
into his office, well aware that unfortunately, it wasn‘t going
to be the “dictation“ scenario of last night’s
fantasy.

Adam Sinclair
sat
behind his uncluttered mahogany desk, his large, well-shaped hand
clasping a gold pen. Jemma wondered how those hands would feel
caressing her bare skin and hastily suppressed her shiver of desire.
She had to stop thinking about how much she wanted her boss or she
wouldn't be able to even look at him!
He wore one of the
outfits that Jemma like best - a gray designer suit, white shirt and
pale blue silk tie.

She sat in one of the
comfortable and softly upholstered chairs opposite his desk and
waited for him to begin, telling herself to concentrate, to not even
think about nervously licking her lips and
for
heaven's sake not to squirm with the moist flush that his sizzling
magnetism drew from her private place.

His
lips curved in that crooked smile that never failed to make her think
of pirates. And getting marooned on a tiny, tropical island with a
VERY naked
Adam Sinclair.

Jemma could hear the
ticking of the clock on the wood paneled wall and started to wonder
if he actually
was
a mind
reader.
T
hen
he cleared his throat and she dropped her gaze to her dictation pad.
“
I would like you to take a memo.
To--
”
he paused, and Jemma looked up
expectantly.
“
Miss Jemma Jones,
secretary to Mr. Adam Sinclair of Sinclair Consulting.
”

Jemma
’
s
pencil stopped before it barely touched the paper. What? He was
dictating a memo to her? She could feel heat on her cheeks and hoped
he didn
’
t notice.

After a slight
hesitation, he continued.
“
Miss
Jones, it has come to my attention that you are due for a lunch
break. Would you care to have lunch with me today?
”

Jemma stopped moving the
pencil across the pad. Mr. Sexy Sinclair was asking her to lunch?
Her heart started racing. Calm down, she told herself. It must be a
business lunch.
Maybe he wants to
give you a performance review.

She slowly raised her
head and looked at him. He gazed steadily back at her, his eyes
smoky with desire. She tried to sound casual as she replied,
“
Yes,
sir,
”
but wasn
’
t
sure if she succeeded.

“
Good.
”
His face lit up with a wolfish grin. His eyes lingered on hers
until he added, "I thought we could go to the Italian place on
State Street. Do you know it?
”

“
I
’
ve
been there once or twice,
”
she
replied, still trying to process what was happening. The boss she
had drooled over for eighteen months wanted to have lunch with her!
She was glad she had worn a flattering navy blouse and skirt
combination that clung to her slightly curvy figure. Usually she ate
sandwiches in the nearby park with a book or magazine for company.

“
Since
it
’
s almost lunch time, why don
’
t
we leave now?
” Adam asked smoothly, standing and moving
toward her.

“
Okay,
”
Jemma replied, her fingers trembling slightly. She stood and walked
to her desk, putting down the dictation pad and pencil and grabbing
her purse. She commanded her heart to stop beating so quickly, or
else she was going to have a heart attack. Not once in the eighteen
months she had worked for Adam Sinclair had she thought he returned
her interest, despite the occasional glances he gave her. His eyes
held a sensual allure that sent shivers down her spine even while her
brain told her body not to be so ridiculous. Adam Sinclair could
have any woman he wanted. Why on earth would he desire her?

“
A
nd
he probably doesn
’
t,
”
she muttered to herself.

“
What
was that?
”
The pulse-stirring growl
was close to her ear.

Jemma started, not having
heard him sneak up on her.
“
Nothing,
sir.
”
Her throat was dry. She tried
to smile but didn
’
t think she
succeeded.

“
If
you
’
re ready, we can go.
”
He stood so close to her that she could smell his scent; clean and
fresh with a hint of spice. She drew in a quick breath, and then he
stepped back to let her walk around her desk.

Jemma preceded him out of
the office. He held open the door and walked alongside her as they
made their way to his car. She liked how he shortened his stride to
match hers; it let her sneak a peek at his tall, muscular frame. The
fabric of his jacket almost brushed her arm and her spine tingled in
response to his close proximity. She was too preoccupied with her
racing thoughts to try to make conversation, though. What if he
wasn
’
t happy with her performance?
What if he was going to fire her? Maybe he was trying to soften the
blow by giving her lunch first before delivering the bad news.

When Adam opened the door
of his black Lexus, she got in nervously, her hand almost grazing
his. She jerked it back, blushing hotly and hoping he wouldn‘t
notice. It would be too incredible that he was inviting her to lunch
because he was interested in her. Why would he be? She had boring
light brown, shoulder length hair, brown eyes, and a girl-next-door
face. It wasn
’
t as if she was a
stunning blond with big breasts and a look-at-me personality.

He didn
’
t
make much conversation on the way to the restaurant. Jemma was
worried she was going to blurt out her fears about being fired.
Sometimes at work they had enjoyable conversations about what they
had each done on the weekend and it almost felt like flirting; those
ocean blue eyes pinning her with their gaze, but then he would slip
back into boss mode and she would return her focus to her work.

Zappoli's restaurant was
one of those cheesy, romantic diners straight out of a Cary Grant
movie. The tables were covered with red-and-white checkered cloths,
and ancient bottles of vino, dripping with candle wax from countless
secluded diners, flickered cheerfully at the center.

Jemma’s toes curled
as Adam’s hand connected with the small of her back, guiding
her toward a cozy little booth near a magnificent view of the river.

“
Order whatever you
like, Jemma. I want you to enjoy this lunch,
”
he said, his eyes intent on her face.

Her heart sank. He
looked so serious. She had been right. Mr. Sexy Sinclair was either
going to give her a bad performance review or fire her. This was
just his way of trying to make it a little easier.